


Ziggurat

by Tarlan



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal didn't tell the Nightstalkers that Drake drank from him, it's not like it was reciprocal, so it's not like Drake turned him. And okay it seems like something is going on because Hannibal's appears to have acquired <i>skills</i>--faster, stronger, kick-ass senses--but it's not like Hannibal is craving or even vaguely desiring blood. Besides, Drake is dead, nothing to worry about on that front.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ziggurat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for:  
>  **Smallfandomfest** FEST11 (2012) (see summary for prompt)  
>  **MMoM** 2012 - Day 23

When he awoke in a haze of pain to find Drake standing over him, Hannibal could do little to stop the vampire from simply taking what he wanted. He tried to struggle as Drake peeled back the bandage covering the wound Drake had inflicted on him earlier; tried to wriggle away from the tongue that lapped at the blood, and he cried out when Drake sank his teeth into the flesh around the wound. He was already weak and lightheaded from blood loss, and Drake must have taken another pint in seconds, leaving Hannibal even weaker, with dots playing around his eyes as he fought to remain conscious.

He couldn't fight Drake physically, but he cursed him over and over, being as inventive as possible while his mind was fogging from more blood loss. Finally, he couldn't even manage that, barely conscious when Drake dragged him from the chair and threw him over his broad shoulder, carrying him away like a sack of potatoes.

He was conscious enough to see the trails of blood leading to the dead bodies of his friends, the grief overwhelming him even as he wondered why he had been spared the slaughter so far. Eventually it was too much, with the pain of every step jarring his battered body, and he fell into darkness.

When he awoke he understood why Drake had let him live.

Danica Talos.

He hated that bitch and had sworn to see her turned to dust. Pushing up to his knees, it took a moment to realize that he felt stronger than before, as if he'd been out for hours--or had been given a transfusion. The wound still ached like a bitch but it was manageable. He tried to hide his fear behind bravado, but as Danica outlined her plans, he felt the fear coil through him. He knew what the thirst could do to a newly turned vampire; how it would consume him until he was nothing more than a ravenous, mindless beast, willing to take any human that would sate the thirst for fresh blood. Even a child. 

Drake left the room, taking Sommerfield's frightened little girl with him.

Hannibal knew he had only one hope left, that the tracker implanted beneath his skin would lead Blade and Abigail to him, and he placed all of his faith on those two vampire hunters, taunting Danica and her brother. Admittedly, his count was off by a fraction but, really, it was impressive when the others arrived--and the final battle began.

Looking back on the battle later, Hannibal felt the first stirring of concern. Despite the blood loss that should have had him too debilitated to stand, he had held his own during the fight. If anything he had felt faster. Stronger. His senses had seemed sharper too and he was tempted to put it all down to adrenaline, except an adrenaline high should had worn off hours ago, and he was still wired.

Drake had bitten him, drinking his blood, but Hannibal hadn't reciprocated. At least, not to his knowledge. Yet the very thought had planted a seed of doubt despite no other signs of having been turned. He felt no craving for blood; no itchy, crawling beneath his skin as the vampire taint raced through his veins.

Besides, all the vampires were dying from the DayStar virus--even Drake was dead--and Hannibal was very much alive despite being in the midst of the vampire nest when the virus was released. He had seen Danica turn to dust when the virus reached both of them, and if Drake had turned him then Hannibal knew that he would also be dust by now.

He shuddered at the thought of his dust mingling with Danica's.

The dreams started that first night. Vivid dreams of waging wars across strange lands; of ancient battles against humans and strange beasts alike. He dreamed of a magnificent ziggurat, climbing the steep, granite steps with superhuman ease, and standing at the very top, surveying the lands before him like he was lord and master of all before him. A king in the real sense rather than just in name. Unlike his dreams of the past, Hannibal was not a bystander. He was looking through the eyes of someone who was experiencing each moment of his dream as if it was a living memory.

On the second night he awoke with start having seen his reflection in a polished shield. It was Drake.

"No."

He whispered the word firmly, wanting to deny the possibility that it was a memory rather than a dream. Drake's memory. As that would mean he had Drake's blood inside him, and that would make him a vampire. A daywalker like Blade and Drake, for he felt none of the burning intensity while walking in the ultraviolet rays of the midday sun.

"No."

He had none of the blood lust; none of a newly turned vampire's insatiable need for fresh blood, no inclination to tear out the throat and feed from the first human he came across. Yet there had to be an explanation for the physical changes, and for the dreams.

On the third night, the dreams changed once more. He was standing at the top of the ziggurat, but turned away from the world to go inside. Instead of being a temple to some unknown Babylonian or Sumerian god, Hannibal saw that it was a home--opulent--with a marbled floor and scattered cushions. Damask curtains billowed over the single entrance, keeping out the insects. Beautiful men and women lay in quiet repose, and Hannibal knew they were both human and vampire, seeing through Drake's eyes as one vampire delicately bit into a human's wrist and took a small sip.

A stone staircase led down, with torches lighting the way even though Drake's vampire eyes could see through the dark unaided.

Instinctively, Hannibal knew these were Drake's private chambers--as opulent as the court room above. He saw a man--human--lying on the cushions. Naked and hard, with firm muscles slick with sweat as he pleasured himself. Hannibal felt the heat within his own body as the man stroked himself, could hear the soft moans falling from softly parted lips. He felt the intensity of the man's eyes upon him, saw the moment he found release, with precious semen covering the still moving hand, splattering across the muscular belly.

He... Drake was beside the human instantly, lapping at the spilled semen before sinking teeth into the muscular inner thigh, drinking from this human lover. And Hannibal came hard in his sleep--his first wet dream in over a decade.

He awoke instantly, sticky and hot, but just as quickly became aware that someone was in his room with him, standing in the shadows. The shadowy figure stepped forward and Hannibal felt a moment of panic when he recognized a man--creature--that he had believed dead: Drake.

"He was my beloved, and when he was taken from me, I lost the will to go on. I sealed myself away for thousands of years, wishing only for an end. For eternal sleep. My palace became my tomb, and I did not expect to awaken."

"No offense but... why aren't you dead?"

Drake shrugged.

"Second question. Why are you here?"

This time, Drake smiled. "For you."

"Is it my sparkling personality? My incredible wit? My taste in 80s pop classics?"

He scrabbled backwards when Drake approached the bed, muscles bunching in readiness as he prepared to fight for his life, but Drake sat down and reached out; one finger trailed through the mess of semen. He brought the finger to his lips and sucked on it, tasting Hannibal, and smiled when Hannibal couldn't look away.

"Perhaps," he replied cryptically.

It took Hannibal a moment to realize why his lips were tingling; the kiss passing in a blur of motion and heightened senses. The next kiss was slower, and Hannibal was both dazed and surprised when his body responded so soon after his wet dream. He felt a moment of fear, recalling the way Danica had lured him in, turned him, and made him her cabana boy for years. He couldn't survive that again, and Drake seemed to pick up on his fear.

"I do not wish to own you, Hannibal King," he whispered as he muzzled against Hannibal's throat. "Come to me of your own free will. Stay with me of your free will."

In years to come, Hannibal often wondered why he had said, "Yes," that night, but decades later, having not aged a single day since that night, he was still with Drake--of his own free will.

END


End file.
